Fourteen roses of February
by frukforever
Summary: On February 1st, Arthur get's a rose from his lover. He gets the next one the second day. And so the month goes on, one flower a day. And then it's Valentine's day. /I'm trying to get back to writing after a while of not writing anything, so this is just some fluff that came to mind.


**It's been almost a year since I last wrote anything, so please, forgive me if there are errors or if something just isn't very good, I tried orz**

The First

It was raining. But then again, it didn't really surprise anyone. Rain was common in London all around the year, even during winter. Arthur had luckily remembered to take his umbrella with him to work that day, having read from the paper yesterday that there was going to be rain. And so, he couldn't help the small amount of glee inside him as he watched some of his fellow men soak in the rain while he could simply hide under his umbrella (though it was a rather embarrassing one; black with white Eiffel towers on it, curse that Frenchman and his love for his country).

But despite the fact that he was able to protect himself from the rain, it was still awfully cold. By the time he finally reached his and his lover's apartment, he was shaking with cold. He shrugged off his coat and took off his shoes, stepping into the warm apartment, yet his body just kept trembling.

"Oh, mon petite lapin, you are freezing!"

Arthur turned towards the voice and rolled his eyes. "Well, of course I am. It's windy out there."

Francis smiled at the Englishman, walking over to hug him, pressing the sweetest kiss onto his forehead. "Oh, I almost forgot. I got you something."

For a moment, he disappeared somewhere, but soon came back with a rose in his hand. "Here you go, mon amour."

"Oh, gee, that sure is going to get me warm!"

Francis only laughed at the Englishman's sarcasm, picking him up into his arms to warm him up the best way possible; cuddling.

The Second

Arthur hated waking up by himself. He might not admit it very willingly, but he did hate it. He hated to wake up without a certain Frenchman smiling at him and telling him how angelic he looked while he was sleeping. It wasn't nice to wake up without having arms around him, holding him close and protecting him from everything bad in the world. Not that he needed protecting, of course not. Pft.

This was one of those mornings. He groaned, pushing the covers off himself and turned to his side to look at Francis. Except that the man wasn't there. Instead, there was a single red rose lying on his pillow.

"What the...", the Briton muttered quietly to himself, taking the rose and playing it with his hand. Maybe it was better than nothing.

The Third

Dinner with Francis was the best thing ever, no matter was it out at some fancy restaurant or at home when they were both tired from work. With Francis, food was always an experience. If he cooked it himself, you could be sure that every bite of it was as tasty as the other. And if the dinner was in a restaurant, you could be sure that Francis picked the best one out there and could tell you exactly what dish you should take.

Today, Francis had cooked himself. It was chicken breast with some fancily seasoned rice, and some vegetables Arthur couldn't even name.

"Wow, it looks amazing", he said, smiling softly at the man sitting opposite him.

"I always try my best for you, mon amour", the Frenchman said with a smile that matched the beauty of the rose sitting in a vase on the dinner table.

The Fourth

No one was allowed to mess with Arthur's books, no one. They were all nice and neat in the study in their apartment. It was the biggest room of the whole apartment (and Francis and Arthur had fought over it for a while; Francis wanted it to be the bedroom, Arthur wanted it to be the study) and two of the walls were completely covered with bookshelves. Even though Arthur was always nagging to Francis about buying too many clothes, colognes, cooking equipment and whatever the Frenchman went shopping for, he himself bought so many books a month he didn't even dare to count them.

However, as Arthur stepped into the study one evening, he had this strange feeling that Francis had been there. Not that he ever told him not to go there, it was Francis' room as much as it was his, but... Well, the other just never was there. But today, there was some sort of weird smell.

Shrugging his shoulders (maybe Francis had just been cleaning?), Arthur sat down on one of the nicely plush armchairs there and took a hold of the book he was reading at the moment. And he also found the reason for the weird smell; there was a rose in between the pages, dried so it wasn't ruining the book.

Francis' mind worked in curious ways sometimes, the Brit decided.

The Fifth

Arthur really wasn't a morning person. He didn't mind the morning when he had gotten at least nine hours of sleep, but that didn't happen most nights. Most nights he only slept around six hours (his own fault, really, unless it was Francis keeping him awake. Not that he really minded that, the Frenchman had very nice ways to keep him awake) and so he was grumpy in the mornings.

He couldn't stand jokes in the mornings, he couldn't stand mess; everything needed to be on their right places so he could find everything easily and just go on with his routines. He didn't want kisses or cuddles, not before he took a shower at least, and he really, really couldn't stand any teasing.

Luckily, there wasn't any teasing or joking this morning. Everything seemed just fine as he walked into the kitchen and went to boil some water so he could enjoy his cup of tea. But as he reached for his favorite mug, there was something extra in it. A rose.

He sighed, taking the flower into his hand. Maybe, just maybe, he could live with something being in a wrong place if it was as sweet as this.

The Sixth

There was one embarrassing thing about his life that Arthur didn't like admitting to anyone; he didn't choose his own clothes. Well, he did choose what he put on every morning, but he didn't go shopping for himself. It wasn't that he didn't have any style, he just preferred the clothes that Francis picked out for him. They always suited him better than the ones he picked himself, even if he wasn't there with Francis to try the clothes on before they were purchased. Francis just had a great eye for fashion, there was no need in denying that.

A few days ago, Arthur had mentioned to his lover that he really needed some new clothes; his dress-shirts were all getting a bit too worn-out and he didn't want to go to work looking like he couldn't afford any clothes.

He wasn't too surprised to find a shopping bag on the kitchen table when he got home from work one day. He smiled to himself and peeked into the bag, frowning a bit. There was a rose on top of the clothes.

The Seventh

"Francis...?"

"Hm? What is it, mon amour?" The Frenchman set down his cup of coffee and looked at Arthur from his seat on the armchair.

"What's with the roses?" Arthur asked, arms crossed. Not that he minded getting flowers from the other, he was just curious to find what was the reason behind them.

"What roses? Sweetheart, I'm positive that I don't know what you are talking about."

Francis got up from his seat and shook his head, walking over to Arthur and kissing his temple gently. "Oh, I almost forgot. Here."

Arthur didn't know where the other got the flower, but the next thing he knew was that the man had already left the room and he was standing there with a rose in his hand.

"Cheeky bastard."

The Eighth

"I'll run a bath for you."

And Arthur, of course, hadn't suspected anything. He had just thanked and went back to reading his book.

"When does he buy all these?" he muttered to himself as he watched the rose petals float aroudn in the bathtub. Sighing softly to himself, he got into the warm water, loving the way it surrounded his body and made him feel so relaxed.

The Ninth

Arthur had a lot of bad habits, smoking being one of them. He wasn't really hooked on it, he smoked only occasionally. It was something he did after a harsh day at work, or a fight with Francis, or when he just wasn't feeling too great and needed something to take his mind off the things swirling in his thoughts.

Today had been rough at work; his boss kept giving him paper work that really wasn't his business and he shouldn't be the one doing it. But of course, being the always so polite gentleman he was, he didn't complain, just did what he was told to do.

So, he headed to the balcony of their apartment, taking the cigarettes from his pocket and lighting one up. It was then that he saw the rose that was on the floor of the balcony in a small pot, fighting against the wind and cold outside.

The Brit hesitated for only a moment before he put the cigarette down and stepped on it to make sure it didn't burn anymore. He took the rose inside and set it on top of his desk at the study.

The Tenth

Arthur was in a hurry. He had slept too long and he really needed to get to work. Breakfast was cast aside as he quickly pulled on a suit and headed downstairs. He didn't even stop to see if Francis was still home or not; all he had in mind right now was that he really needed to be on his way already.

He didn't even stop to look at his shoes, which was kind of a mistake.

"Ow! What the hell...?!" He took the shoe off, only to see a rose inside, which he had managed to crush with his foot. If it hadn't been such a sweet gesture (honestly, the roses were the best part of his day), he would have been angrier. Instead, he smiled, muttering something to himself before heading off to work.

The Eleventh and Twelfth

It was already really late. It was near to midnight, and there hadn't been a rose all day. It bothered Arthur more than he wanted to admit, he had already grown fond of the flowers he got during the days. Francis couldn't just stop like that, could he?

"Hey, frog, what's the deal with-"

The Briton stopped talking as soon as he got the door to the bedroom open. "Oh. Um, never mind. I think I found the rose", he muttered, eying the naked Frenchman up and down. He couldn't help the way his gaze wandered from the rose in between his teeth to a rose that was placed... somewhere down from there.

Francis grinned, taking the rose from his mouth and holding it in between his fingers. "I'm sorry you had to wait for so long. But you know, it's only one rose for a day, so I had to wait until midnight so I could give you them both", he purred. "Well? Don't you want to come and... grab it?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, a blush spreading onto his cheeks as he unbuttoned his shirt, crawling on top of the Frenchman. "Pervert."

The Thirteenth

"So, what's Francis getting you for Valentine's day? Do you think he had some big surprise planned?" Alfred asked Arthur when the two were having a break, both of them heading towards the coffee machine.

"I really don't know. The idiot has been giving me roses all month, but I have no idea what he's been planning for tomorrow", Arthur said, the two of them heading back to their cubicles when they had their coffees.

"Really? That's so romantic", the American said with a grin. "Have you gotten your rose today yet?"

"No, and I don't know when I will get it. That's the thing with Francis, you never know what to expect from him. I wouldn't be surprised if he sent a pigeon to bring the rose to me at lunch", Arthur said, sitting down on his chair and pulling open one of the drawers of his desk, eyes widening.

"What is it?"

Arthur lifted the rose gently with the tips of his fingers, showing it to Alfred.

The Fourteenth

Valentine's day. Before Francis, that day had been utter torture to Arthur. It had never meant much to him; it was only that one day of the year when everyone else got to spend time with their loved ones, go on amazing dates and all that, and he sat alone at home. But these four years he had spent together with Arthur, Valentine's day had been amazing, and he no longer hold grudges against all those happy couples from years before. Now as he got to experience this all himself, he understood why all his friends had been so annoyingly in love during this time of the year.

When you are with someone you truly love, a day filled with kisses and warmth, hearts, chocolates and flowers, really is one the best things in the whole world. It was great to have a day to just celebrate the fact that they loved each other.

This morning he woke up with a smile on his lips, stretching a bit as he yawned. "Francis...?" he murmured the other's name sleepily, reaching an arm out to touch him only to find out that there was no one beside him. His brow furrowing, the Englishman sat up on the bed, looking over at Francis' side. A letter.

"I swear, if you are breaking up with me over a letter on Valentine's day, I'm going to kill you...", he muttered quietly to himself, taking the letter from Francis' pillow.

"Good morning, mon petite!

I'm really sorry, but I had to go to work, it was very urgent and I just had to go. Forgive me, please!

With love,  
Francis

P.S. Meet me at the park at six!"

Work? That bastard! How did he dare to leave Arthur alone for the whole day? Angry and annoyed, Arthur buried his face into the pillows, cursing Francis' name before he fell back asleep; might as well use this time to work the dark circles away from his face.

He woke up again at 2 am, groaning as he sat up. He hadn't even realized that he was that tired. Not bothering to dress up yet since he had so much time, he went to the study to read for a while, and before he knew it, it was already five.

"Shit!" the man cursed, and headed into the shower. Now in hurry, he did his best to look presentable for Francis. He might have been a jerk for going to work today, but he was still his lover. Dressed in a nice blazer, dark jeans and a white dress-shirt, Arthur decided he looked good enough. He ran his hand through his hair and went to put on his coat and shoes.

Feeling both curious and still a bit angry, he left the apartment building, walking towards the park.

When he reached it, however, he halted, staring with wide eyes.

No way that Frenchie had been at work at all today. Everywhere he looked at, there were rose petals, beautifully red on the snow. There were lights everywhere, creating an amazing mood to the whole park.

Green eyes still blown wide, Arthur followed the path that went through the park, looking around in amazement. And there, in the middle of the park, Francis was waiting for him, a wide smile on his lips and a bouquet of roses in his hands.

"Hey, mon cher", he said softly as Arthur stopped in front of him, leaning in to kiss him gently.

"I'm sorry I left you and lied to you. But I needed some time to get this all ready", he said, "Here."

Arthur took the bouquet from Francis, breathing in the beautiful, soft scent of the flowers. There were fourteen of them. Such a romantic fool the other really was, going through all this trouble just for him.

"You idiot, you shouldn't have-"

Once again, the Frenchman managed to surprise him so that he was unable to complete his sentence. Swallowing, he clutched the flowers against his chest, watching the man kneeling in front of him with wide, teary eyes, trying to keep himself from getting over emotional.

"Arthur... I might have gone a bit over the top with all this, but I wanted it to be perfect. Because you, mon amour, deserve nothing but absolute perfection", Francis said, a smile on his lips. "Now, I know that I'm pretty much as far from perfection as it gets, but I do know how to cook and clean. And I know a nice flower shop where they give you a bit of discount if you buy a rose everyday. And I know how to make you smile", Francis said, grinning as he saw the smile tugging onto his lover's lips. "I have some other good sides in me as well, I think. Finding them might be difficult, but if you just want to, you have a life time ahead of you to find out just what I'm good at."

He paused for a moment, taking the box from his pocket, opening it and showing Arthur the beautiful, golden ring with a small emerald on it. "Arthur... Will you marry me?"

The Brit bit down on his lip so he wouldn't sob out loud as tears ran down his cheeks. He nodded frantically, offering Francis his hand so he could slip he ring onto his finger. "Oh, god, Francis you... you fool...", he muttered as he dropped the roses to the ground and leaned into kiss the taller man, arms wrapped tight around him.

"I love you so much", he murmured as he buried his face into his fiance's neck. "So fucking much."

Francis wrapped his arms around the other man, pulling Arthur tightly against him as he pressed his lips against the top of his head. "I love you too. More than anything else."


End file.
